This was more pleasant, she decided, even if she was in danger of starving. By early afternoon, the villagers and local gentry had departed, along with one or two of Jack’s relations as well. Two days hence, the rest would have departed for their various estates, leaving only the Creamcrofts and perhaps Lord Peter and Mr. Thatcher.
Nessa stifled a small sigh as the final dinner course was served that evening, looking forward to that calmer time. This wedding day might be far less unpleasant than her first had been, but it was more hectic, and just as interminable. Would it never end?
Jack rose from the table, a wineglass in his hand. “A toast to my bride, Lady Foxhaven.” Though it was by no means the first toast drunk in her honor that day, the guests dutifully echoed the sentiment.
“And now,” Jack continued, still standing, “my bride and I shall take our leave. I bid you all a good night.” Draining the last drops in his glass, he extended a hand to Nessa. Startled, she rose to take it.
Murmuring a farewell to family and friends, she accompanied Jack from the room. Panic belatedly set in as she set her foot on the first step of the great stairway, but she strove to conceal it.
Only a moment ago she had been wishing for the day to end. Had she been mad? The tall windows flanking the front door showed that the light was long gone, but it could not be more than six o’clock. The others would not be going up to bed for hours yet. Nessa’s panic intensified.
“Are…are you certain you wish to leave the festivities so soon?” she asked breathlessly.
Jack gave her what was perhaps meant to be a reassuring smile, but which had quite the opposite effect. “I find all of these people wearying, don’t you? I didn’t wish either of us to become totally exhausted—yet.”
Nessa bobbed her head in mechanical agreement, her breath coming quick and shallow. Speaking was totally beyond her now. At the door of her room, she paused in some confusion. Jack had not indicated where she was to stay after the wedding.
“Why don’t you go ahead and allow your maid to help you out of that gown. It’s lovely, but looks devilish uncomfortable. I’ll see whether Parker has finished restoring my things to my room.” He nodded at the chamber adjoining hers, which his Aunt Esther had occupied until that afternoon.
“Then…this is to remain my room?”
He nodded. “You did say you liked it.” His tone was teasing, but she thought she detected an undercurrent of uncertainty.
“Oh, I do! Thank you, Jack.” Pleased and grateful, Nessa realized now that he had vacated his own chamber for the past week rather than add to her strain by forcing her to change rooms on this already stressful day.
He dropped a light kiss upon her forehead. “I’ll join you in half an hour, my dear.”
Abruptly, the chill returned to Nessa’s midsection, driving out pleasure, but she managed to nod and turn the handle. Simmons came forward at once to close the door behind her and began unfastening the intricate wedding gown.
“Would my lady care for a glass of something to calm her nerves?” She carefully laid the veil back in its folds of tissue.
Was her anxiety that obvious? This would never do. “Of course not, Simmons. I have been married before, you know.”
The abigail put away the veil and returned to finish unpinning the gown, helping Nessa to step out of the creamy confection. “Marriage to an upright, respectable, and respectful man like Lord Haughton will hardly have prepared you for this night, milady.”
Nessa knew she should rebuke Simmons for such outspokenness, but instead swallowed convulsively. “What…what do you mean?”
“Lord Haughton was an older man, and a gentleman,” said Simmons, shaking out the gown. “It stands to reason he would be less…demanding…in the marriage bed.”
“Lord Foxhaven is a gentleman as well,” Nessa pointed out feebly, but she knew her words lacked conviction. Lord Haughton had not come to her bed frequently, it was true—as Simmons was no doubt aware. But he had simply taken what he wished when he did visit her, with no consideration for Nessa’s feelings or comfort. Would Jack truly be even more…demanding? She shuddered.
Yet weighing upon her more heavily than a fear of pain or discomfort was the certainty that after this night she and Jack could no longer be friends. She would miss that terribly.
For a moment she considered asking Simmons after all to fetch her some brandy or sherry—anything to make the looming experience less disagreeable. But that would be to admit her abigail was right about Jack, and she was not ready to do that. So she sat in determined silence while Simmons brushed out her hair and turned down the counterpane.
“Thank you, Simmons. That will be all.”
With a pitying look Nessa would rather not have seen, the maid left her. Alone, but not for long.
Just as she had on her first wedding night, Nessa climbed under the covers and waited, trying not to think about the painful ordeal to come.
14
Jack flicked a speck of dust from the lapel of the midnight-blue dressing gown he’d purchased in London for this particular occasion. Though not normally a vain man, he could not refrain from a glance in the looking-glass before reaching for the handle to the door separating his chamber from Nessa’s. He wanted to look his best for her, tonight of all nights.
Turning the handle, he blessed his luck that Nessa was a widow. As two experienced adults, they could delve straight into the pleasures of their union, with none of the coaxing, cajoling, and tears an untried girl would have occasioned. He could not imagine a virginal miss holding a fraction of the appeal that Nessa did, in any event.
An oil lamp on the nightstand gave Nessa’s green-and-peach room a soft, romantic glow. And Nessa herself awaited him in the bed, her rich chestnut hair loosed from its bonds to drape seductively over her shoulders. Jack felt his anticipation grow, along with a certain portion of his anatomy.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long, my dear,” he said, his voice husky with desire.
Nessa gave an odd little twitch before replying, “No! Not at all. Of course not.” Her voice was high and breathless, even strained. If it weren’t absurd, he might think she sounded frightened.
He moved closer to the bed. “Nessa, is everything all right?”
She nodded almost convulsively, her eyes unnaturally wide.
“No, I don’t think everything is.” He sat on the edge of the bed to regard her with a frown. “Are you unwell? Is it your time of month? Did that dragon of an abigail say something to worry you?”
Each question was answered by a sideways shake of her head, but the panic—yes, he could only call it panic—did not leave her eyes. Baffled, he reached out a hand to stroke her hair, hoping that his touch might calm her. Instead, she flinched away. Startled, he dropped his hand.
“I’ve never seen you like this, Nessa. Clearly, something has frightened you badly. Will you not tell me what it is?”
She closed her eyes and swallowed visibly. “Please, Jack, can’t we just…get it over?”
He nearly fell off the bed in his astonishment, suddenly deflated in more than an emotional sense. “What?”
Nessa opened her eyes and fearfully met his frowning gaze. “I…I know what is expected, of course. And I am ready, truly.”
“Are you indeed? I rather doubt that, my dear.” Though he kept his voice gentle, mentally he cursed the late Lord Haughton. What a bumbler the man must have been, to make Nessa so terrified of the physical side of marriage! He’d been wrong, very wrong, he realized. This was going to require far more skill than a virgin bride would have, for he had damage as well as ignorance to undo.
Now that he’d divined the cause of her reluctance, Jack’s anticipation swelled again. He’d always loved a challenge. Moving closer to her, he said, “I won’t consider you ready until you want me as much as I want you, Nessa. And I’ll bring you to that point, if it takes me all night.”
Nessa had tried to blank her mind, steeling herself for the inevitable,
but Jack’s words startled her into unwelcome awareness. “What—what do you mean?”
“I mean,” he explained, “that before this night is done, you will discover what the marriage bed was truly designed for—mutual pleasure, not the unilateral satisfaction of one party. Kiss me, Nessa.” He lowered his lips to hers just as he’d done in the maze, and in his carriage in London.
At first she was unresponsive, still struggling to understand. But then, as her fear began to dissipate, her lips softened beneath his, just as they had when no dread of lovemaking had constrained her. He deepened the kiss slowly, very slowly.
Soon, those pleasurable feelings he had aroused before stirred within her. Her lack of resistance became active participation, as she twined her tongue with his. Slowly, Jack shifted his position until he lay beside her, never breaking the kiss. With one hand, he cupped her cheek, stroking gently. Finally, he lifted his head to murmur, “See? Not so terrible after all.”
She managed a small smile, but she still doubted him. That was all well and good, she thought, but still just a kiss. She knew there was worse to come yet.
“No, that’s not all.” She blinked at this evidence he’d guessed her thoughts. “But things will get better, not worse. You’ll see.” Moving away from her briefly, he peeled back the coverlet to join her beneath it.
She stiffened when he lay against her, now separated only by their thin garments, but when he did nothing but kiss her again, she relaxed once more. Again pleasurable sensations welled up—more quickly this time—and she began to respond eagerly.
Gently, so gently, Jack slid his hand lower, from her cheek to her throat, and then to her collarbone. Whenever she tensed even a fraction, he paused. Finally, his hand cupped her breast. This did not frighten her particularly, as it was something Lord Haughton had never done. Indeed, it served to intensify what she was beginning to suspect might be desire.
Trailing kisses from her lips to her throat, Jack followed the path his hand had taken until he reached the low neckline of her nightgown. With nimble fingers, he undid the first tiny button, then continued on, unbuttoning it as he went, until his lips reached her other breast.
When he touched the nipple with his tongue, she gasped, but not with fear. Still, he took his time. Circling both nipples, one with his tongue, the other with his thumb, he then returned to her lips for another long, deep kiss.
Emboldened by the delicious sensations Jack aroused, Nessa began her own exploration, skimming her hands over his shoulders, first above and then beneath his dressing gown. So heightened were her senses by this time that the touch of her fingers upon his bare skin was almost a shock. Apparently he felt it, too.
“Oh, my dear,” he whispered. “Have I told you how very exciting I find you?”
Timidly, curiously, she shook her head. “Let me pleasure you, Nessa,” he said. “Let me excite you as much as you excite me. I want you to know just how good it can be.”
She swallowed, but managed an almost imperceptible nod. Smiling, he resumed his attentions, stroking, touching, kissing. First tentatively, then more eagerly, Nessa stroked his back and shoulders in return.
His dressing gown had fallen open by now, and she saw that he wore nothing beneath it—but the knowledge no longer frightened her. She slid her hands lower, exploring areas she would never before have dreamed of touching.
Jack moved his own hands lower as well, massaging her breasts, her waist, her hips, her belly. Finally, with one finger, he brushed the mound of curls below, and the cleft they concealed. At that touch she stiffened again, pulling back from him, reminded again of her first wedding night. At once he retreated, but only back to her belly.
Kissing her again, he whispered, “I won’t hurt you, Nessa. I’ll never hurt you.”
She opened her eyes, searching his. “I trust you,” she said.
For an instant she wondered if his vow extended beyond physical pain—and whether it was a vow he could keep. Surely he’d loved and left dozens of women over the years, never intending to hurt any of them….
Desire superseded such anomalous reflection then, as Jack again gave Nessa his undivided attention. This time when he touched her most sensitive spot she did not flinch away. Softly, gently, he stroked and massaged, all the while kissing her mouth, her earlobes, her throat. When he slid one finger inside her she gasped—but with desire, not dismay.
Slowly, then more quickly, he eased his finger in and out, giving her a foretaste of what was to come on a grander scale. She tightened around his finger with a small moan.
He shrugged his dressing gown the rest of the way off. As he’d already unbuttoned the entire length of her nightgown, nothing now separated them. He rolled to cover her body with his own, but at once her eyes flew open, the fear returning.
“No, no, it’s all right,” he whispered. “We’ll do this another way, so that you can stop any time you wish to.” Rolling back onto his side, he turned her to face him, kissing and caressing until her fear again faded into desire.
When she again convulsed around his finger, he moved his hips forward until his swollen member rested against her mound. He moved slowly, gently, though by now she felt more than ready to receive him. Removing his finger, he replaced it with the very tip of his manhood, teasing her moist lips apart until he was just inside her.
Rocking ever so slightly back and forth, he duplicated the action he’d begun with his finger, at the same time massaging her tiny, sensitive nubbin. Nessa matched his rhythm, moving her own hips to meet him. Now it was his turn to groan as he covered her mouth with his, stifling her gasps of pleasure.
Nessa had gone beyond wonderment by now, lost in a sea of sensation she had never dreamed existed. Jack had promised he would make her want him, and oh! She did, she did! She quickened the thrusting of her hips, parting her legs slightly to impale herself upon him. Over and over she thrust her hips against his, reveling in how he filled her, reveling in the absence of pain. An even more intense surge overwhelmed her and she went over the edge into a world of pure pleasure that had her shuddering with ecstasy.
As she began her descent from the heights, Jack accelerated his own movements, driving himself into her once, twice, again. He tensed then and shuddered, just as she had, gradually slowing his movements. Nessa’s body still throbbed around him, but now a warm languor began to steal over her, replacing the urgency she’d felt a moment ago.
Her breathing slowed, and she could hear his doing the same. Speaking seemed out of the question, and yet she felt a need to express her thanks for the new world he had opened to her. Never again would she fear him, fear the physical aspect of marriage. Tentatively, shyly, she touched his cheek with her fingertips.
Jack opened his eyes, pools of midnight blue, and smiled. “Did I keep my promise?” he asked.
She nodded. “And it didn’t take all night, either.”
He gave a bark of laughter, then hugged her to him. “Nessa, you are truly a remarkable woman. I’m glad I married you.”
A warm glow filled her, as pleasurable as the one his physical loving had aroused. “I’m glad too, Jack. Thank you. For everything.”
He raised a quizzical brow, making her blush. “Oh, that wasn’t everything, not by a long shot.”
“No?” She felt breathless, but daring. “I seem to recall a discussion of lessons…”
“And that was but the first. Come, my wife, let me demonstrate the full range of my instructional abilities.” He pulled her to him again and she felt not the smallest desire to resist.
By morning, Nessa felt as if she’d acquired years of experience, if not much sleep. Marriage to a rake had much to recommend it after all, she had decided well before midnight. Now she found herself a bit sore, but happy. She’d longed to throw off all those years of propriety and, in one glorious night, she’d done it. And would again—and again.
She smiled up at the plaster flowers on the ceiling. Three days ago, she’d promised to play the paragon in public if s
he could be wicked in private. Now that she knew just how much fun “private wickedness” could be, she realized such a life was her ideal. She could enjoy frequent—nightly!—tastes of wildness without visiting scandal upon Prudence, Jack, or anyone else.
At that thought, she suddenly sat up with a gasp, awakening Jack, who still slumbered at her side. “The guests! What time is it?” A glance at the clock above the fireplace showed the morning well advanced, though still wintry-dull.
Jack turned toward her with a smile. “Does it matter? No one will expect newlyweds to appear early for breakfast.” He reached out to pull her to him once again, apparently revived enough by a few hours’ sleep for more lovemaking.
But Nessa evaded him and scrambled out of the bed. “No, Jack, I promised—you made me promise. I am now officially hostess of Fox Manor, and your mother and Lady Gwendolyn leave this morning. ’Twould be a dreadful insult were I not to see them off.”
“Would it?” Jack frowned. “I can’t see how. You’ve been everything proper since they arrived—more gracious than they deserve, by a long sight. Surely it’s for them to take leave of us.”
Nessa began splashing her face at the basin. “Yes, yes, but if we are not available for their leave-taking, then the onus is upon us. One of the frightful things about propriety is that one misstep wipes out any number of perfect ones.”
Jack snorted, but sat up and groped for his dressing gown. “I suppose you’re right, though that’s why all the resolve in the world will probably never restore my reputation. How can one stay on one’s guard every minute of the day?”
Drying her face, Nessa went to give him a quick hug. “I can, so long as I may drop it at night.”
His deep chuckle quickened her pulse, but she ducked away when he would have pushed her back onto the bed. “At night, I said.”
“I’m glad the days are short just now.” With a wink, he returned to his chamber to ring for his valet.
Brenda Hiatt Page 17
